


Lost in a February Song

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dream Sex, F/M, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Lost Love, Oral Sex, Ouija, Psychics, Sorrow, Wakes & Funerals, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-22 05:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: An accident changes Bog's life.





	1. The Day that Changed Everything

Bog stood staring at the grave. He knew he looked terrible; pale, thin, the bruises on his face were still an ugly shade of purple and blue mixed with a shade of corpse yellow. His arm was in a sling, two of the fingers of that same hand broken. His shoulder was messed up as well, having been dislocated along with the laceration that was going to leave a very nasty scar. All of this didn’t include the simple beating his body had taken. He was in a lot of pain, but he wasn’t feeling much of it thanks to pain pills and the numbness that had washed over him in the last couple of weeks. 

He had felt very little over the last week particularly, as his focus had been on the funeral. It took every ounce of focus and will to just get through these few days. 

He didn’t feel the need to eat, to sleep, to do anything except to curl in on himself. All he wanted was to be left alone. He didn’t want to hear anymore murmured words of apology, of grief, of understanding...especially understanding, because no one understood what he was going through. No one. 

Bog stared at the casket in its sweet colors, colors of springtime, joy, happiness. The casket was a work of art, beautiful. The long box was light purple with a dark tri-corner coral finish which gleamed beautifully in the sunlight. He knew the inside was just as lovely, with light lavender velvet in French foil design, purple, with soft satin, and a pillow trimmed with delicately sewn primroses that mixed well with the jewel tone roses that decorated the inside and outside of the casket, the two flowers twisting around each other, the primroses ignoring the thorns of the roses to wrap around them in an embrace. The primroses loved the roses despite their prickly nature. 

Bog swallowed down the hard lump in his throat as his eyes continued to glide over the finely crafted coffin. The handles were ornate silver continuing the rose and primrose theme. It was expensive and beautiful, and it held everything that had ever meant anything to Bog. 

Inside the casket he knew she wore one of her favorite outfits, a pair of dark purple leggings with a dark blue and purple corset top with these silly dramatic sleeves that he had always teased her about, and her boots, those damn boots she had worn with everything, whether they matched the outfit or not. 

Bog swallowed staring at the bright flowers that covered the entirety of the top of the casket. The bright February sunlight seemed to fall just right on the flowers, picking out all the colors in a cheerful dance of light, color and life. Bog simply didn’t understand how the sun was shining today. It should be raining, it was February, but instead of being cloudy, the sun had decided to come out, not a cloud in the sky. Didn’t it always rain at funerals? His chin trembled as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. He leaned forward and placed his trembling hand on her casket. He had thought he was done crying, but the moment he laid his hand on her casket a fresh bout of tears blurred his eyes, causing the casket and the flowers to become a smear of bright colors. 

Bog closed his eyes, the tears slipping past his lashes to fall down his cheeks. “Marianne…” he whispered his voice rough. “I can’t...I can’t do this without you. I can’t live without you.” He sniffed and his entire body began to tremble. “Marianne...it should have been me...you were always the strongest of the two of us.” He smiled. “My tough girl…” His lip trembled, more tears sliding down his cheeks, dripping off his chin as his legs gave out. He dropped to his knees beside her casket. 

“My Marianne...oh god…” Bog broke down completely, the fresh tears rushing down his face as he leaned his forehead against her coffin. His voice broke. “Marianne...please...please don’t go…” 

* 

Dawn, Sunny, Dagda, and Griselda all stood by the cars, giving Bog his space. Everyone else had left, heading over to Bog and Marianne’s house for the wake. Thang was there with his wife Stuff to take care of the guests while the rest of them waited here at the cemetery. 

Sunny and Dagda were both holding Dawn between them while Dawn cried, her face buried against her husband’s shoulder, one hand resting on her swollen belly, the baby inside kicking gently, sensing her mother’s distress. 

Dagda was trying to put on a brave face, but it was clear the older man had aged even more in the last few weeks. Shadows seemed to perpetually surround his eyes, and more wrinkles were noticeable around his mouth. He had already buried his wife, but now his eldest daughter...he didn’t know if he could take anything else. He knew he needed to be strong for his baby girl, but he didn’t know how he was going to make it through this. Dagda held Dawn tighter, and vowed silently he would not let anything happen to her. He couldn’t lose another child he thought to himself, at the same time praying to his wife Lily to give him strength. Griselda stood watching her son, not sure what she could do for him. She knew what he was feeling to some degree having lived through the loss of Bog’s father, but that had been an illness, a long and drawn out illness, but it had given her and Bog time to be prepared for his father’s passing. That had been nothing like what her poor boy had gone through. Griselda wrung her hands watching her son, but when he fell to his knees, she gasped. 

“Oh no!” She took off across the grass hurrying to her son’s side. 

Dawn looked up, watching as Griselda struggled to get Bog to his feet before leading him back across the trimmed grass toward the cars. He was crying, his good hand over his face, leaning into his mother. Dawn broke free of her husband and father hurrying over to Bog’s other side. 

“Bog? Oh Bog…” Dawn wrapped her arm around his waist helping Griselda to steer him. 

Bog mumbled, his voice barely audible behind his hand. “I can’t do this. I can’t be without her...I just can’t…” He sagged as they approached the car. Dagda hurried over taking Bog from Dawn and glancing around the grieving tall man to his mother. “Do you have his pills?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. 

Griselda nodded. “I do. In my purse. Let’s get him in the car and I’ll give him a couple, then we can head over to the house.” 

Dagda nodded while Sunny opened the door, frowning with concern. Griselda guided her son into the car, with Dagda helping to get him seated, picking Bog’s legs up and easing them into the car. Bog sagged in the seat, breaking down again into a fresh bout of tears. 

Griselda dug into her purse for the mild sedatives the doctor had prescribed for her son to get him through all of this. Her hand trembled as she opened the bottle while Sunny ran to his car, hurrying back with a bottle of water. Griselda held two pills in her hand, ducking down next to her son and gently pulling his hand down from his face. 

She bit her lip seeing her son’s face. He was a man broken. She gently took his hand, putting the pills in the palm of his hand. “Honey, I need you to take these okay?” 

Bog nodded, tears continuing the fall down his cheeks, but he wasn’t looking at his mother; his eyes were cast down. He automatically tossed the pills into his mouth. Sunny handed Griselda the bottle of water which she then put in her son’s hand. Bog swallowed the pills in a daze. 

Griselda sighed setting the water down before reaching across her son to buckle his seat belt. She closed his door gently, but Bog was now just staring back at Marianne’s casket, all the color drained from his face, his eyes red and swollen, which made the blue look so startling in his pale face. 

Griselda looked to Dagda and the others, but it was clear in her eyes she--just like them--didn’t know what to say. Dagda reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder giving her a comforting squeeze. 

Griselda’s brow furrowed, her own tears spotting her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can leave him alone tonight. I hate that I have to get back so soon…” 

“I can stay with him tonight,” Dagda said softly. “It’s no problem.” 

Dawn looked at Sunny, the two of them sharing voiceless communication before Dawn replied. “We can take a turn staying with him too.” 

Griselda shook her head. “Oh honey, not in your condition.” 

“Do you think he would be willing to stay with any of us?” Dagda asked. 

Griselda rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. He is so stubborn…” 

Dagda pulled Griselda into an embrace. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. Together we will can all get him through this.” And we will all get through this too, he thought with a heavy, shuddering breath. 

Griselda, her eyes red and tears glistening in the corners, hugged Dagda in return with a whispered. “Thank you.” 

* 

Bog was numb through the entire drive to the home he shared with Marianne. It was actually her house, a place she had purchased when she thought she was going to be marrying a man named Roland Knight. (Roland was the current face of a line of automobile dealers, Knight Motors, which had been around for years, owned by and started by Roland’s grandfather Ronald King back in the 1950’s. Marianne had said that Roland was also the loan officer for the company. She had said on more than one occasion that Roland loved making money and his hair more than he had ever cared about her.) Oddly, her relationship with Roland was how she and Bog had met. Bog owned a jewelry store, Dark Forest Jewels, where Bog specialized in making custom jewelry. Marianne had walked in one day and practically thrown a ring at him (not one of his) and asked if he bought jewelry...that had led to their first date, falling in love, Bog making her a ring...a ring she wore still...now in her casket...and him asking her to marry him. They were going to be married next year at this time… 

Bog blinked, suddenly aware of where he was and the crowd of people in his home carrying plates of food, speaking in low voices, every one of them dressed in black. He looked around confused. Why were they here? He frowned, and for a split second he had no idea what was going on, then reality slammed into him like a wrecking ball to his chest. The air was forced from his lungs and darkness wrapped around him once more. He realized he was sitting in his chair, an old, ragged monstrosity of a recliner that Marianne had always jokingly called his throne. It was an off white bone color, with patched sections on the arms that he had ironed on himself when the springs had worn through on the arms and an old purple afghan that Marianne had tossed over the back for him. He could feel the afghan against his back now. She would sometimes pulled the blanket off and wrap it around his legs, or wrap it around her shoulders before crawling onto his lap. They would snuggle on the throne together watching tv. Bog smiled softly, remembering her body warm against his, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her as they watched some silly program together. He swallowed and it felt as if a hand around his heart squeezed tightly. They had made love in this chair the night before her death...her sitting on his lap…beautiful, naked, her head thrown back, her hands pressed against his chest while she moved, rolling her hips against him. The warm lamp light had made her skin glow, making his Marianne look like a goddess. He loved her so much, loved everything about her. 

He had never thought he would find love. Had given up years ago on love and had accepted the idea of himself living alone. He was ugly, grumpy, shy and simply didn’t date. No one was interested in a tall, thin stick of a man with a Scottish accent that made his speech garbled when he was angry--or excited--but Marianne had come into his life like a whirlwind, changing everything. 

She had seen beyond his angry demeanor and visage, his facade she had called it, and found the man underneath. 

She gave him so much...he had never felt worthy of her, never felt that he deserved to have her in his life, this beautiful, caring woman who loved him despite his faults, and now, she was gone. 

He had lost her...it was his fault, all his fault... 

Bog’s eyes unfocused as tears blurred his vision again. He was lost now, lost without her, his heart broken and beyond repair. 

“Bog?” 

Bog blinked, turning his vision, struggling to focus. He blinked back the tears to find that Dawn, Marianne’s sister, was standing in front of him with two plates of food. She looked odd in black, he thought. Dawn should never wear black. Marianne had told him once that she was sure Dawn was a pixie that someone had left on their doorstep, at least that was what she believed as a child, and even as adults she wasn’t so sure that wasn’t the actual truth. Dawn was always full of life, love and sunshine, and seeing her like this seemed so wrong. 

Dawn smiled softly at him. He frowned at her, studying her for a long moment as if he didn’t quite know her. She looked pale, her eyes red. Her usual glow, which had only increased over her pregnancy, was missing. He stared at her. Sadness didn't look right on Dawn, she should never be sad he thought. Marianne had said that her sister had been made of sunshine and happiness, all the things that were right in the world. Bog had grown to love her like his own sister. Dawn was never sad, and sadness should never touch her, not like this... 

“Dawn?” Bog frowned looking up at her. 

Dawn smiled. “I brought you some food. You need to eat something.” 

Bog numbly took the plate she handed him without really looking at the food that was on the plate. It was simply a smear of colored lumps to him. 

“I’m not really hungry,” he said softly. 

“I know Bog, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to eat,” Dawn said sternly. “Your mother said you didn’t eat at all yesterday and that you haven’t been eating much at all since...” 

She looked sad for a moment pressing her lips together before she murmured. “Marianne always said she worried about keeping weight on you because you are so thin. She wouldn’t want you losing any weight.” 

Bog smiled a little. “I know; she was always forcing me to eat. She told me once it wasn’t fair that I could eat anything I wanted without gaining any weight, but if she even looked at a chocolate cake she put on fifty pounds.” He chuckled lightly. “I would tease her about how that never stopped her from eating the cake.” He glanced up at Dawn. “She hit me in the arm hard enough to bruise.” 

Dawn laughed softly. “I bet she did.” 

They were both quiet staring at their plates when Dawn murmured. “Won’t you please come stay with Sunny and me? Please Bog.” 

Bog shook his head. “I can’t.” 

Dawn sniffed, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “ I don’t like the idea of you being here Bog, by yourself...I mean, I know Daddy is going to stay with you tonight since your mom has to head back home, but…” 

Bog shook his head. “Tell your father he doesn’t have to stay with me.” 

Dawn pressed her lips together before she said softly, “Bog, we…” 

“I promise I won’t do anything to myself,” he whispered back. “I just…” he frowned looking at the food. “I just need some time--alone.” 

Dawn chewed her bottom lip for a few seconds before she answered. “If you eat some of the food on that plate, I’ll talk to my Dad, okay?” 

Bog smiled at her. “Thank you.” 

She leaned down, laying her hand against Bog’s cheek before she kissed him on the forehead. “I love you Bog. You are the brother I never had and my sister loved you so much. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

Bog’s chin trembled, fresh tears in his eyes. “I love you too Dawn and I loved your sister…” His voice broke and he couldn't speak, but Dawn nodded. “I know...I know…” 

She laid her forehead against his head, the two of them sharing a moment of intense emotion before Dawn stood straight again, sniffing and wiping her tears. 

“Now, let me see you eat a few bites okay?” 

Bog smiled with a sniff. “You are going to make a great mother.” 

Dawn smiled laying her hand on her round stomach. “Thank you Bog. You are going to be a great uncle.” 

Bog frowned, but Dawn laid her hand on his shoulder. “Even though you two weren’t officially married, you are still this baby’s uncle Bog. No matter what.” 

Bog wiped his eyes with his free hands, smiling softly at her. “Thank you.” 

Dawn reached over and caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. “No need to say thank you. You are my family Bog, always.” 

* 

The rest of the day went by in a blur that Bog didn’t really remember much of. People came up and spoke to him, words of condolence that he couldn’t recall, he couldn’t even remember the names of everyone there. Except for Dawn, Sunny, his mother and Dagda, everyone else was a blur of color and voices that never penetrated his fog. 

Dagda had been reluctant to leave him alone once everyone had left. (His mother was driving home this evening, lived a little over four hours away in a small town where she was the head pediatrician of the local hospital. She specialized in children’s leukemia, and had several patients who needed her. She had been with her son since the accident, staying at the hospital with him, helping to make arrangements with Marianne’s family for the funeral, but she was needed back home. She had tried to get Bog to come with her, but he didn’t want to leave the house.) With help from Dawn, Bog had convinced his almost father-in-law, convinced them all, that he didn’t need a babysiter and that he really needed some time alone. Everyone had reluctantly left that evening. 

So now, Bog was alone. 

He stood in the middle of his living room. 

The house was silent, empty without Marianne here. His gaze roamed around the darkened room. There were pictures of him and Marianne on the walls, her smiling face beaming back at him, alive, beautiful. He frowned, his eyes moving to each image of her, so young, so beautiful. He walked from the living room to the kitchen, a lost soul wandering the remains of his life. So much of Marianne was here in this house, in nearly every corner, on every surface, in the air. Shelves contained little knick knacks she had collected from weekend trips, or visits to the zoo, just any of the numerous outings they had together. He saw her purple rain coat hanging on the coat rack by the front door with those galoshes he had bought her, purple with bright sunflowers painted on them. She had laughed when he brought them home for her, but she wore them whenever it rained, splashing through puddles like a little girl. 

When he stepped into the kitchen there were more reminders of Marianne; her favorite mug still sat on the window sill of the window above the sink where she had left it. It was a white mug with primroses sloppily painted on it from a pottery class they had taken together. He had painted the flowers, badly, but she had loved it. There was a nick on the edge of the kitchen counter where she had dropped a hot pan trying to flip a pancake. He smiled, his fingers brushing over the mark remembering how much they had laughed while pancakes littered the floor. He frowned looking around, not sure why he had come in here. There were several tupperware containers on the counter, all containing some sort of food that guests had brought for the wake. He opened the refrigerator, saw it was filled to the brim with leftovers from the wake as well. In the back he could see the hint of a green bottle, the remains of a bottle of wine they had bought last weekend for their zombie movie night… 

Bog let the door close on the fridge, turning and continued to move like a zombie through the house, his eyes gliding over books that belonged to Marianne, photos, a dent in the wall from when they had been chasing each other through the house and she had shoved him playfully into the wall, just all the little things that made a life together. 

Bog moved through their home until he came finally, to their bedroom. He laid his fingertips against the door. He wasn’t sure why it was closed, they never closed their bedroom door...maybe it was Dawn, or his mother… 

He sighed and opened the door, stepping inside. 

The room was dark. Bog reached to the right, finding the switch. He flipped it and a warm yellow light illuminated the room. The bed was unmade. He remembered, they had been running late for their appointment with the wedding planner that day… 

Bog turned away quickly from the bed and headed over to the dresser trying not to see the rest of the room. He didn’t look at the vanity, where so much of Marianne was present, her other bits of jewelry, her nightgown thrown over the bench seat, the mirror’s sides covered in pictures of them, her sister Dawn and Sunny, her mother...his eyes grazed over the box that sat on the corner of the vanity...the box that contained everything Marianne had been wearing the day of the accident...Bog refused to look at the box. Instead he turned away and he walked across the room to the dresser. 

He pulled open the top and second drawer, pulling out some clean underwear, pajama pants and a t-shirt. He didn’t look at the objects on top of the dresser, a pair of earrings he had made for her, a bottle of aspirin, a glass of water, the top of which was covered in dust and a statue, a small glass unicorn that she had given him...what had she said about it? Oh yes, that he was like a unicorn, rare and wonderful... 

In a fog, Bog walked to their bathroom. He moved like a robot, letting his brain work on autopilot, turning on the water, stripping, taking his arm out of the sling, wrapping his broken fingers with a hand towel, using the bathroom, pulling the curtain back, stepping into the shower without looking at the hundreds of little reminders of Marianne. Her toothbrush, her hairbrush with some of her hair still caught in it, her makeup, a stick of her deodorant sitting on the back of the toilet… 

He moved robotically, doing his best to shower without seeing anything, her shower gel, the shampoo, her razor, the many times they had showered together, making love against the wall until the water ran cold… 

Bog closed his eyes standing under the water. Part of him knew he was crying, but he didn’t move, stood still letting the water wash away the tears. He didn’t move again until the water had turned to ice, nearly stealing his breath, and finally forcing him to finish showering and get out. 

Once he was dressed again, (he didn’t bother with the sling or picking up his clothing, leaving everything where it landed on the floor) he walked back into their bedroom and stopped, staring at the bed. He began to tremble, tears silently rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't do it, he couldn’t sleep in that bed without her… 

Bog stepped forward and grabbed a blanket from the bed and her pillow, rushing from the room as if he could outrun what had happened. He rushed into the living room and crawled onto his recliner. He saw that his mother had left his pills, both his pain pills, the sedative pills and some aspirin sitting on the table beside his recliner along with a glass of water. Bog grabbed the pills, taking everything before he pulled the blanket over his head, wrapping his arms around the pillow. He could smell her, that mix of shampoo, flowers, and her, that pleasant scent that was only ever Marianne. He pulled himself into a tight ball and cried until the pills pulled him down into sleep. 

* 

That was when the dreams came. 

They had been running late for the wedding planner. Marianne, hopping on one foot while she struggled with her boot had been yelling. “BOG!! Come on!!” 

Bog laughed walking into the living room holding up the car keys. “Found them!” 

Marianne smiled. “Then you get to drive.” 

Bog smiled strolling to the door with a glance back at her. She had looked so beautiful that day in black leggings and a light grey sweater, wearing the necklace he had made for her, a braided silver chain with a triangle-shaped piece of lilac amethyst hanging from it surrounded by smaller stones of lilac amethyst, the first piece of jewelry Bog had ever made for her and her favorite. 

“Well what’s taking you so long slowpoke?” He grinned at her. 

Marianne laughed. “Hey!!” She raced for the door, grabbing her purse just as Bog started to pull it close on her. 

She laughed. “You jerk!” 

Bog grinned poking his head back in. “You love me.” 

She giggled and grabbed his rear as they walked back out which made Bog jump. “It’s the butt. I put up with you for that nice butt of yours.” Marianne giggled happily. 

“Ah I knew it, you just love me for my body!” Bog laughed. 

He remembered the drive, the two of them singing along loudly to the songs on their car stereo, laughing, holding hands. They had made it to the the wedding planner with barely a minute to spare. They had been able to put their deposit down on their dream venue for their wedding. They had chosen to get married in the butterfly house at the local botanical gardens. Marianne was thrilled and Bog was happy, happier than he could ever remember being. 

They had been driving home when the weather had turned. It was that time of the year, February, when the weather was so unpredictable. It would be sunny one moment and raining cats and dogs the next. Today the weather had decided on an extra treat with a hail storm. 

Bog frowned glancing out the window. “Maybe we should pull over? This is pretty bad.” 

The hail hit the car with tiny balls of ice coming down surprisingly thick and fast. 

Marianne frowned. “Maybe you’re…” 

That was when the car in front of them suddenly lost control. Bog remembered trying to turn them away, slowing down to avoid the car, but he hadn’t moved fast enough. The car in front of them spun sideways and their car hit them, hit them hard enough that Bog and Marianne’s car had spun sideways. The car behind them hit their rear and somehow they had flipped. 

Bog remembered Marianne screaming… 

He had come to in the hospital, struggling to sit up, screaming for Marianne. His mother had been at his side. She had been the one to tell him about the accident, about how, while he had been knocked out, Marianne had bled to death beside him and he had never known. His mother had been forced to relate how Marianne had used her last moments to write him a note, knowing she was going to die...a note stained with her blood...she had told him how much she loved him, how happy he had made her...how she was sorry she was going to miss their wedding, but that she would always be with him, always... 

Bog had read the note, his entire body shaking as the reality of his loss came crashing down on him... 

* 

Bog woke sobbing. He curled in on himself holding the pillow tight against his body and crying until he could barely draw breath. 

It had been a month since the funeral, but he woke the same way every time. Every night he dreamed about the accident and every morning he woke, her death fresh and new like it had just happened today. He took a deep breath, struggling to get himself under control, his eyes squeezed shut. After a few minutes of breathing slowly, Bog was finally able to pull the blanket back and sit up in his recliner, the sound of the television droning on in the background. He was still sleeping in his recliner, leaving the television playing all night. He looked around the living room. The curtains were drawn tight, but he could still see a sliver of daylight creeping in through a slight part between the curtain panels. He sighed. Even after a month, he simply couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bed he had shared with Marianne. He was barely able to walk into the bedroom at all, let alone sleep in there. 

He sat in the chair holding the pillow against his chest. He was supposed to go back to work today, only a few hours, but still, he was going to have to be there, even if it was only going to be for a handful of hours...which meant he was going to have to shower and dress. Bog sniffed wiping his eyes with the heel of his hands. He had to do this, he had to go to work. 

He pushed himself up out of his chair slowly. He had lost a lot of weight, looked like a shadow of himself. He tried to eat, tried, but he simply couldn’t find an appetite. He only ate when Dawn and Sunny came over. (Dawn would show up once a week by herself to make sure he had clean laundry and to drop off his medication. He also knew it was a wellness check, to make sure he hadn’t done anything to himself. She never said that, but he knew.) Even when she came over, he ate only sparingly. Dagda had also come over a handful of times to check on him, to bring food over…Bog took as many bits as he had to so they would stop worrying, but that was usually all he would eat. When he was alone he would eat enough to quiet the grumbling of his stomach, barely, and after a month of eating only bits, his stomach growled less and less. Food tasted like ash, without flavor, nothing there at all and he just didn’t have the energy to care. 

His mother called every day to check on him as well, asking him if he had showered that day, what had he eaten, did he take his pills... 

There had been some mention about packing up Marianne’s things, but Bog refused to discuss it. Part of him knew that he should, needed to, in order to move forward, but he couldn’t bear to have any of her things touched or removed...he had changed nothing in the house and had no plans on changing anything. Ever. 

He took a deep, heavy breath and made his way to the bedroom to shower and dress. 

* 

Bog pushed the bedroom door open. He kept it closed all the time, though he wasn’t sure why. He went through the usual motions--go to the dresser to get clean underwear. He grabbed his things and walked over to his closet and stopped, his eyes landing on the box that held everything Marianne had been wearing the day of the accident. 

He stood still, continued to stare at the box. His eyes had glanced over it for the last month, every time he was forced to come in here, but today was the first time he had really acknowledged the box’s presence. Bog walked over and sat on the bench in front of Marianne’s vanity, picked up the box and laid it on his lap. He frowned as he ran his fingertips over the lid and through the thin layer of dust. After a few seconds of staring at the lid, Bog slowly removed it. 

Inside were some of Marianne’s neatly folded clothes. On top of the clothing was the note she had written, the blood stains no longer such a bright red...next to that was the lilac amethyst necklace he had made her. 

Bog reached in, slowly picking up the necklace. He held it in his hands staring at it, remembering the way the necklace had hung around her neck, the smile on her face when he had given it to her, and the way she had kissed him. 

Bog choked wrapping both hands around the necklace and held it to his chest, fresh tears in his eyes. “Marianne…” 

He didn’t notice that the room had grown colder, that his breath was visible. He cried, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands tight around the necklace. 

That was when he heard a voice behind him. 

“Bog?” 

Bog looked up. The mirror had a fine film of frost over the glass, but he could see something glimmering softly behind him. He stared, trembling before he turned to see Marianne standing behind him, a look of pure confusion on her face as she stared back at him.


	2. Seeing Ghosts

Bog stood up, his eyes wide in shock, the necklace slipping from his fingers to fall to the floor with a little clatter. 

“Marianne?” His voice broke on her name and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks as small puffs of steam issued from between his lips in the colder air of the room. He had to be hallucinating. Had he overdosed on his meds? Was he asleep? 

Marianne took a step toward him. Her image--that had to be what it was he thought, an image--wore the outfit she had worn the day she died. She looked exactly like the day the died except there was something hazy about her, something unstable. Her expression was scared, or even terrified, and confused. 

She took another step toward him. “Bog, I…” Her voice sounded so lost and confused as she reached out to him. 

Bog slowly put his hand out to her. He was shaking and his long fingers trembled, not just from the sight of his dead girlfriend, but the ice cold of the room was causing him to shiver. But just as Marianne’s fingers were about to touch his, she vanished, her image fading away to leave nothing behind but the cold. 

Bog stood still, his arm outstretched, his fingers reaching, but nothing and no one were in the room with him. He could feel the warmth returning to the room slowly. He looked around, looking for any indication that he hadn't imagined what he saw, that she had been real, but as he turned to look back at the mirror of her vanity, even the ice on the mirror had gone, leaving behind only a few beads of moisture. 

Bog dropped to the floor with a shaking breath, his tears dropping to the floor in an unsteady rhythm. 

* 

The Dark Forest Jewels was a small shop located in a small strip mall. The outside of the store was black and gold, the door framed with gold colored tree branches that gave the illusion that the customer was stepping into an enchanted forest. The same imagery continued into the main body of the store. The interior was decorated in dark browns and blacks with the custom made jewelry on display in glass cabinets with a warm, mellow lighting that continued to make the customer feel relaxed by maintaining the atmosphere of enchantment. Bog had not only designed the shop himself, but had done a lot of the work with the help of his cousins Thang and Brutus. 

Stephanie--Stuff as her friends called her, and Theodore (Thang)’s wife--was waiting on a customer when she looked up to see Bog walking into the store. She knew he was supposed to start back to work today, but she hadn’t really expected him to come in, not after the loss he had just been through. She wouldn’t have been surprised in six months, but not now. So when she saw him walk through the door dressed in jeans and an untucked pale blue dress shirt in desperate need of an ironing, she was caught completely by surprise. 

Bog didn’t say anything as he walked in, his hands shoved into his pockets, though he did glance in her direction, his blue eyes rimmed in red. He gave her a small nod before he headed to the back. Stuff watched him go with a frown before returning her attention to her customer. 

* 

Bog found Thang in the back, his glasses on the end of his nose while he worked on the store’s computer in Bog’s office. He glanced up in surprise from behind the desk where he sat when he saw Bog. He looked a little lost to Thang, as if his cousin didn’t quite know where he fit, or what to do with himself. 

“Bog? What are you doing here?” Thang frowned, pushing up his glasses. 

Bog sighed pulling the second chair that sat in his office over and flopped down. “I was supposed to come back today. I have a backlog of orders to begin working on…” 

Thang frowned. “Bog, no one expected you to show today. We all understand…” 

Bog shook his head. “I...I need to get back to work.” He took a heavy breath and stared off into space. Thang watched his cousin with concern. 

“Bog, you wanna talk?” Thang asked softly. 

Bog sucked on his bottom lip, pulling his teeth across it in thought before he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I think I might be losing my mind.” 

Thang frowned. “Bog, you just suffered through something…” Thang shook his head. “Something terrible. It’s normal to feel that way, but maybe working will help?” 

Bog sighed. “It’s not…” He frowned with a look at Thang, opened his mouth before he snapped his it shut again and seemed to sink into the seat. It was clear to Thang something was on Bog’s mind that he didn’t know how to express, but Thang had been Bog’s ear growing up, so the younger man waited patiently. But Bog simply nodded. “Yeah, maybe…” He pushed himself up slowly as if it took more strength than he had to get to his feet. 

“I’ll be in my workshop.” Bog gave his cousin a half-hearted smile. 

Thang nodded. “I’ll bring you some coffee?” 

Bog gave him a shrug followed by a wave of his hand and a grunt. Thang watched Bog turn, open the door, and leave quietly, his tall, lean frame far slimmer than he had ever seen Bog. His cousin’s shoulders were slouched and his entire demeanor was of a man falling deeper and deeper into despair. Thang didn’t know what to do for him, or what to say. He and Stuff had tried to get him to see a doctor, to talk to someone, but Bog refused to go, instead simply barricading himself in the house he had shared with Marianne. Thang sighed pushing his glasses up, looking down at the desk for a few seconds. Maybe working would help the grieving man. Thang pressed his teeth into his bottom lip, thinking for a moment about how he would feel if he lost Stuff...Stephanie...He closed his eyes on the thought, feeling a deep shudder run through his body before opening them again, returning his attention to the work on the computer. 

* 

By the time Bog returned home, he was exhausted. He had put all of himself into his work, focusing on working the metal, setting stones, creating magic with the material even though his soul felt broken. The work had helped him temporarily forget about the image of Marianne he had seen, helped him push his pain and anguish aside, if only for a short time. He felt guilty about it, about being able to put his pain aside while he worked, as if there was something deeply wrong with him if he could focus on something besides his loss, something other than Marianne. 

He sighed, plodding through the house, dropping his phone on the table by the recliner that had become his bed over the last month before he headed to the shower. 

Bog stopped once he was in the bedroom to look around the room slowly. The necklace still laid on the floor where he had dropped it. He stood still, his eyes moving from the necklace to the place where he had seen Marianne. He waited, but nothing happened--no frost on the mirror, no cold, no image, nothing but a dark and quiet room. A room that had become a tomb to his lost life. Bog wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for, what exactly he expected to happen. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting that dullness that had been getting him through the last month wash over him before he started to move again. 

Just like this morning, after her had seen her, he put himself into a robot-like trance, moving. but feeling nothing; numb, showering, dressing, doing what he needed to do without really being aware of what he was doing... When he had left the house this morning, he had called a taxi. He couldn’t get behind the wheel of a car, not now. Hell, he didn’t know if he could ever drive again. He knew eventually he would have to drive. At some point a taxi or the bus would become impractical for him, but for now, he simply couldn’t be behind the wheel of a car. 

His thoughts having wandered to the car forced Bog to squeeze his eyes shut as images flashed through his mind of the car accident, the sound of Marianne’s scream... 

Bog shook himself, chasing away the pain, the shadows, and put himself on autodrive so he could shower and dress in his night clothes. It was the only way he could function. Once he was clean and changed, Bog shuffled into the living room where he made his way slowly to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk. Thang and Stuff had brought him lunch at work today, a chicken salad sandwich. He had managed to eat four bites before they stopped watching him, making sure he ate at least a little. He couldn’t stomach the rest, so he had left the biggest portion of the sandwich in the fridge at work. At home he had a few things, some fruit, the leftover of some casserole that Dawn had brought him, but the idea of eating just wasn’t appealing, so he settled for the milk. 

Bog curled up on his recliner with his glass of milk, opened his bottle of pills and dumped them into his hand before tossing them into his mouth with a swallow of milk. He pulled the blanket over his legs and wrapped his arms around Marianne’s pillow before picking up the remote and turned on the television. He leaned back in the chair while he flipped around for a couple of minutes, finally landing on some old thriller from the ‘80’s. 

Bog didn’t really watch the film; instead he stared mindlessly at it until the pills kicked in, lulling him to sleep. 

* 

Bog dreamed of Marianne. 

It was when he had taken her dancing. He hadn’t wanted to, but it was Valentine’s Day and he really wanted to do something special for her. Marianne was always hinting around that she wanted to go dancing, that she liked to dance… 

So he had spent weeks taking dancing lessons that he hated just so he could take her dancing. He had purchased a dress for her, one she had pointed out in a shop months ago when they were walking along the sidewalks, window shopping. She didn’t wear dresses often, which was why her liking this dress had stuck in his head. It was a dark purple off the shoulder dress, with flowers across the bodice and corset and ribbon lacing in the back. The skirt was short, but with a soft fullness that made him think of a ballerina. Marianne had gasped when she saw the dress, nearly pressing herself against the glass and speaking in hushed tones. “That is so pretty!” 

Bog had grinned at her. “You like that? A dress?” 

Marianne had elbowed him. “I like dresses, sometimes.” 

Bog had smirked at her gazing at the dress. “You would look gorgeous in it.” 

Marianne had sighed. “Too bad I don’t have a reason to wear something like that.” 

She had sighed before turning her gorgeous smile on him and tugging on his hand, pulling him away from the window to continue their walk, but Bog had returned a week later and bought the dress for her, keeping it for a surprise just for this moment on a cold Valentine’s night in a little hole in the wall dance club that played old tunes from the ‘30’s and 40’s. His dream focused on her in his arms. Marianne was laughing as he lifted her off feet and spun her around, her eyes bright, her smile beautiful. He slowly lowered her down, staring into her soft brown eyes while Helen O'Connell’s lovely voice sang “Star Eyes.” 

Bog had grinned at Marianne, singing along softly to the music while they danced. 

“All my life I've felt 

Content to stargaze at the skies. 

Now I only want to to melt 

The stardust in your eyes.” 

Marianne had gazed back at him, lost in his eyes. She had wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders. 

She had whispered clearly to him: “I love you Bog.” 

Bog had grinned and spun her around, his arms tight around her. “I love you too Marianne.” 

She had kissed him in that moment, their bodies swaying softly to the music, all the rest of the dancers had faded away. It was a long, lingering kiss; her tongue stroked his, her body warm against his, and the night had been perfect. 

The dream jumped to later that same evening when they were in bed together. He was on top of her, his arms around her, hands cradling her head, pressing himself deep inside her with slow, deliberate thrusts. Marianne had her hands around him, her fingers pressed into his back, her strong legs around his thighs, her head thrown back as she cried out with pleasure. Bog groaned, his entire body shuddering… 

“I remember that night too.” 

Bog eyes flew open at the sound of Marianne’s voice. 

He gasped sitting up in the recliner only to find himself freezing in the living room. The air was so cold that he could see his breath. Shivering uncontrollably, Bog looked around, the chill seeping into his bones. The room was dark except for the light from the television, but he saw nothing, only the images on the television and his breath. He was alone. 

Bog frowned, pulling the blanket up over his arms. “Marianne?” 

He shivered, waiting, but nothing happened except that the room slowly warmed. Bog frowned reaching over to pick up the bottle of sedatives, examining the label in the light from the television. He frowned. There were no warnings about hallucinations. Bog set the pills down and thought about looking up the medication online later. Or maybe he was just going crazy? 

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen table where his laptop sat. He pulled out a chair and sat down while lifting up the screen to bring up the internet. He frowned staring at the screen, his fingers poised over the keys. Bog could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest. He worried at his bottom lip. He didn’t know if he believed in ghosts, life after death… 

Hell, he wasn’t sure what he believed. 

He lowered his hands to the table’s surface, closing his eyes. He could feel the sting of tears, his thoughts and feelings a confused jumble of pain, doubt, fear, anxiety and...and hope. The hope was the worst of it. Did he want her back so much that he was manufacturing this? Was he driving himself mad with his desire to have Marianne back? 

Bog’s chin trembled, tears slipping past his lashes to slowly slide down his cheeks. 

What if she was trying to reach him? What if there was a chance this was real? 

Bog sniffed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, his fingers in his hair as he struggled with what to do. He lowered his hands and stared at the screen of his computer for a good half-minute before he started to type. 

For the next several hours Bog spent his time focused on reading about other peoples’ experiences, watching videos of supposed sightings and assessments of those videos. He watched videos by supposed psychics and debunkers until his eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep, slumped over the table and his computer. 

* 

The next day Bog worked through his day much the same as the day before, focusing entirely on work, creating pieces of exquisite jewelry, but instead of going straight home that evening, he took a detour to a shop he had looked up this morning online before calling a taxi. The store was called Sugar Plum Magic and Occult Offerings and was located across town (well away from his jewelry store) on the bottom floor of a large, restored, three story Victorian house with the full gingerbread trim painted white and a tower. 

Bog stepped out of the taxi, looking at the shop with a frown, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. He was having second thoughts about this. He had decided this morning to buy a ouija board. He felt like he had to try, to see if he was hallucinating or if maybe, just maybe Marianne was still there, in their home, but now that he was here, he felt foolish and angry with himself. 

“Hey mister, you sure you want to stop here?” 

Bog turned to see the taxi driver leaning over the passenger seat, the window down. “This is the place you wanted, right?” 

Bog nodded. “Yeah, yeah it is. I’ll be just a few minutes.” 

The driver nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll be right here waiting.” 

Bog smiled. “Thanks.” 

With a deep breath, Bog turned and walked up the sidewalk and up the stairs to the shop. He reached out, grasped the doorknob, waiting only a beat before he pushed the door open and stepped inside to the chime of a bell. 

* 

The first thing that hit Bog about the shop was the scent of incense and sage that hung thick in the air, followed by the soft sounds of harp music. As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit shop, he saw that the bottom floor of this home was packed full of occult materials, so much so that it was hard for his eye to stay in one place before his gaze was roaming to the next display. There were shelves and shelves of books, along with displays of crystal balls of all sizes and colors along with displays of polished stones and gemstones. Glass witch balls in an array of colors hung from the ceiling along with dreamcatchers, bells, bundles of drying herbs, and other items that he had no idea about. There were displays for spell kits, jewelry, smudging supplies, runes, incense and tarot cards. The place was simply a cornucopia of the occult. 

Bog swallowed, feeling completely out of his depth. 

He turned around slowly, trying to figure out the best place to start looking when he heard a soft, “Meow.” 

Bog turned around to see a white, fluffy cat with the darkest eyes Bog had ever seen. The cat almost looked to be smiling at Bog as it walked around a shelf, its long fluffy tail in the air and meowed at him again. 

Bog heard the sound of a tinkling woman’s laughed followed by a high-pitched, happy voice saying, “Imp likes you.” 

Bog turned around trying to find the source of the voice as he reached out slowly with his hand toward the cat. Imp rose up and bumped his head against Bog’s palm before running his entire body along Bog’s hand. Bog smiled at the cat. 

“His name is Imp?” Bog asked the mysterious voice. 

“Yes it is,” the voice replied. 

Bog smiled. “That’s a funny name.” 

“Oh, it’s the name he came with.” The voice laughed, the sound like the chime of the bells at the door. 

That was when a woman came into view. She was short, shorter even than Marianne had been. The woman had long, flowing blonde hair with a few tiny blue flowers that looked to be scattered through her thick tresses. She wore a blue, cotton tiered dress that hung to her ankles with puffed sleeves and a pair of blue flip flops. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of turquoise earrings that 

Bog immediately recognized as a pair of his design. 

The woman smiled and put her hand out. “I’m Plum.” 

“Bog--Bog King.” Bog shook her hand. 

She grinned. “Oh I know you; well I don’t know you, but you own The Dark Forest don’t you?” 

Bog nodded and pointed at her earrings. “Those are my work.” 

She squealed and clapped her hands over her ears. “Oh gosh! These are my favorite!! I’ve been wanting to talk to you about selling some of your jewelry! But then I heard…” She stopped herself short, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

Bog paled a little, but managed to speak. “It’s...it’s all right.” 

She smiled sadly at him before she took a breath. “So, what can I help you with today Bog?” 

Bog frowned as he looked down at his feet. He felt foolish...but… 

“I’m looking for a ouija board,” he said softly. 

Plum smiled. “I do have a wide variety of boards. Just follow me.” 

Plum turned and Bog followed as she weaved through the maze of her shop, going deeper. Bog realized as he followed her that the shop wasn’t confined to one room of the bottom floor, but instead consisted of another two rooms entirely. The shop was far larger than he originally thought. They stopped when Plum came to the very back of one of the rooms where Bog saw a wall with several shelves containing, as she had said, a wide variety of ouija boards. 

“Now, as you can see, I have many different kinds. Some of these are rare.” She smiled at him. “This one here is from the 1840’s…” She pointed at a polished wooden board, the words and numbers all contained in a circle in the middle of the board with a circle of question words around that. The rest of the board was decorated in a checked, diamond design. “...to these that date back to the 1940’s…” She pointed to a rather colorful one in shades of blue and yellow. “While others are your typical plastic mass marketing ones.” She pointed to one of the first that Bog had seen online. “I have wood, hand carved, plastic, stone, paper, cloth. You name it, I have it, or can get it. So, what are you looking for?” Plum smiled at him. 

Bog worried nervously at his bottom lip, not sure how to say what he was thinking of using the board for. His eye wandered over the display. While he gazed at the boards, Imp came over and began to weave between his legs. 

Bog sighed. “I was wanting one to, ah, to speak to the dead.” 

Plum, who had been looking over her display as well, turned slowly, a frown on her face. “A ghost?” 

Bog frowned rubbing the back of his neck. “I...well...I’m not sure...I’m not sure what I’m doing at all.” He sighed. “Look, sorry to have wasted your time.” 

He started to turn and walk away when Plum reached out to stop him. “I have a board for you, but...I do readings, seances, I could…” 

Bog shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing here. This was a mistake.” 

Plum smiled softly turning to pick up a ouija board from the shelf. She handed the board to him. It was made of thick, dark wood, polished with a glass-like finish. The letters were carved into the wood in delicate script and the planchette was also beautifully carved with a clear crystal for looking through. 

Plum smiled. “On the house, but just after you make contact, come see me. I might be able to help you further.” 

Bog held the board staring down at it. “I don’t…” 

Plum wrapped her hands over his and squeezed. “I insist, and here…” She dipped her fingers down the front of her dress and pulled out a card handing it to him. “That has my number on it if you need any help.” 

Bog looked at her, his blue eyes rimmed in red. 

His lips trembled. “Do you think...do you think she might be there?” 

Plum smiled gently; she didn’t need to be told who he was talking about. “I don’t know, but if you think she is, then you should try and contact her.” 

Bog looked from her to the board again and whispered. “Thank you.” 

Plum smiled with a tilt of her head. “You’re very welcome.” 

* 

Bog sighed, staring at the board. 

He was sitting at his kitchen table, the ouija board in front of him. He stared at it, his hands resting on either side of it. He had come home and showered, dressed for bed, but instead of settling down in his recliner, he was sitting here at the table staring at the board. The only other thing he had done was retrieve Marianne’s necklace from the bedroom; it now laid on the table at the head of the board. 

“This is stupid,” Bog said softly to himself for the hundredth time since he had come home. He chewed his lip staring at the board and the planchette. He took a deep breath and laid his fingers on the very edge of the plachette. He swallowed, pressing his lips together firmly. 

After a few moments, Bog whispered. “Marianne? Are you here?” 

Bog waited, but nothing happened. He frowned, rubbed his lips together and tried again. 

“Marianne? I miss you so much. Please, if you are…” 

He felt the room’s temperature drop. It was sudden and unexpected despite what he was doing. One moment the room was warm, comfortable, and the next he could see his breath. His heart began to beat faster and he tried to keep the trembling in his hands under control. 

“Marianne? Is it you?” 

The planchette began to move slowly. Bog felt as if the planchette was being pulled, dragged slowly across the board toward the word, “yes.” 

Bog felt tears spring to his eyes, his attention so focused on the board that he had forgotten about how cold the room was; he was shivering, but he didn’t notice. “Marianne…” He squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Oh god Marianne…” 

The planchette moved further and slowly the pull became stronger, more firm as it spelled out. “Bog.” 

Bog smiled as tears continued to roll down his cheeks. 

“I miss you so much,” he whispered. 

The planchette moved more quickly across the board. Bog read out the letters. 

“W, h,a,t...what...h,a,p,p,e,n,e,d...happened…” Bog’s voice was soft, he choked on a sob. “Marianne...you don’t know?” he asked the board. 

The planchette moved to “no.” 

Bog’s tears flowed quicker. “I’m so sorry Marianne…” He dropped his elbows to the table, his head sinking. “It’s all my fault...my fault…” His tears hit the board as he began to cry. 

“Bog?” 

Bog’s head snapped up in surprise to see Marianne standing on the other side of the table. She smiled gently at him. 

“Bog…” she said softly with a smile and reached out to him. 

Bog reached out a trembling hand to his dead fiancee...


	3. In Dreams

Bog didn’t know what he was expecting when he reached out for Marianne, but his fingers brushed through her instead. Except it wasn’t like moving through air. When his fingers brushed through her hand, it was almost as if his hand had moved through ice cold water, colder than anything he had ever experienced before, and the cold air was thick, similar to gelatin, but not quite. It was a new sensation, strange, but at the same time it was the best thing he had felt in weeks because it meant that she was here, she was real and that he wasn’t losing his mind. 

Marianne let out a gasp, jerking her hand back and looking at it like she had never seen her hand before. She turned it back and forth staring. 

“I...your hand moved through me. It was...warm…” She looked from her hand to Bog, and a shiver ran through her that momentarily made her image seem to shimmer and waver. 

Bog stared at her, the woman he loved. She looked solid, there was color to her, life in her eyes; she looked like he could simply reach out and pull her into his arms. But he knew he couldn’t, and while that hurt, a sharp spike of pain to his chest to know that he couldn’t hold her, he also felt overwhelmed. She was here--Marianne was here... 

For a heartbeat, a feeling of doubt rushed over him. Maybe he was crazy, maybe he was just so far along now into a grief driven delusion that his hallucinations were becoming more vivid, more effective in twisting his senses. “Marianne? Is this real?” he asked in confusion even though he knew asking her was foolish. If she was a product of his mind, he was sure his mind--the insane part--would come up with a way to make him believe what he wanted to believe...but something deep inside him told him she wasn’t a product of his mind, that his heart was here, that the woman he loved was truly here with him. 

Marianne frowned, her eyes moving from him to her hand before she looked again at him. “Bog, what’s happening? I don’t understand. I don’t remember getting home...the last thing I remember was the hail…” 

Bog’s chin trembled. He stood up slowly. Those blasted tears he couldn’t seem to stop crying were falling again down his cheeks. He took a step closer to her, the chill in the air intensifying once he was closer to her. 

Marianne frowned at him. “Bog, why are you crying? What happened?” 

She reached up to his face to brush her fingers across his cheeks. He could feel a soft, cold breeze brush his skin, moving the drops of salty tears on his face. 

Marianne’s bottom lip shook slightly. “Why can’t I touch you?” 

Bog gazed at her beautiful face and he could see that she knew what had happened, what was wrong, but she was afraid to say the words out loud. He would do it for her. 

“You died Marianne. That day, on our way home from the wedding planner, the hail…” Bog closed his eyes, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “We hit the car in front of us, we flipped…” Bog swallowed, opening his eyes again. “It was my fault you died.” 

“I died?” Marianne looked so confused that it broke Bog’s heart. 

He nodded. “Yes.” 

Marianne murmured the words as if she were trying them out in her mouth, feeling them with her tongue in order to grow accustomed to them. “I died...I died…” 

Bog lips trembled. “I’m so sorry. If I had controlled the car better…” 

Marianne’s eyes snapped over to him. “Bog, don’t, please. It wasn’t your fault!” 

“But it was...if I had just pulled over like I said…” Bog sank back down into the chair, his hands covering his face as he began to sob. “If I had only…” 

He felt the cold aura wrap around him; it was surprisingly soothing. It was only now, this close, that he realized that the cold smelled like her, like vanilla and spring flowers. Bog’s entire body relaxed. He could feel a caress along his back and through his hair, like fingers brushing the locks back, like Marianne always did. 

Her voice was soft, gentle. “Don’t say that. It was an accident Bog. You would never hurt me, ever. I know that. Whatever and however it happened, you are not the reason Bog. You would never hurt me.” 

Bog’s arms ached. He wanted so much to wrap them around her, to hold her, feel her against him, but while it hurt not being able to hold her, he could take comfort in what he had, which was this, her presence. Though whatever miracle, Marianne was here and he welcomed the chilling feel of her. 

Bog opened his eyes slowly and lowered his hands. He could feel the cool caress of her hands across his cheeks, forcing his face up. He looked up into her beautiful brown eyes. 

Marianne smiled at him. “I’m here now and I love you.” 

Bog smiled at her through his tears, his voice rough with pain. “I love you too Marianne. I love you so much.” 

* 

The room was dark, but before, where the room seemed to be heavy with grief and broken dreams each time Bog came in here, tonight the room was filled with muted joy, a gentle peace, tentative and fragile. Bog and Marianne were in their bedroom lying side by side facing each other, each had a hand lying in front of them, the tips of their fingers touching. 

Bog spoke softly. “Your father calls me every other day to check on me. Dawn has brought food over…” 

Marianne pressed her lips together. “You’ve lost a lot of weight--you look so thin Bog. There are shadows around your eyes…” 

He smiled at her with a little snort. “I’ve always been thin.” 

Marianne gave him the look she always did when she wasn’t having any of his nonsense, her petite nose wrinkling and her brow furrowed in annoyance. Her rich, brown eyes flashed. Bog grinned at her reaction. He couldn’t help it, seeing that look in her eyes, the one that usually ended up with him getting punched in the arm made him smile. He had missed it so much Bog reached over, his fingers hovering over her cheek. He could feel the coolness there as he brushed his fingers along the shadow of her face. She didn’t feel so bitterly cold now, just a calming cool feeling against his skin. 

Marianne smiled at him. “I don’t understand what’s happening Bog, but I’m glad I’m here with you.” 

Bog’s lips trembled, fresh tears in his eyes. “I missed you so much Marianne.” 

She smiled reaching out to touch him. He smiled at the cool touch brushing like a gentle breeze along his cheek. “I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Now sleep Bog and promise me, you’ll start taking care of yourself?” 

“I’ll try,” he said softly, suddenly so tired that keeping his eyes opened seemed an impossible task. He heard Marianne’s voice, soft and soothing. “Sleep Bog. I’ll be here.” 

Bog’s eyes drifted closed, his body relaxing, sinking into the mattress and blankets of the bed he shared with Marianne. 

* 

Bog frowned looking around. He was still in his bedroom, but not his bedroom. He knew it looked like his bedroom, but cleaner maybe and there were not any primroses growing along the carpet, or creating a canopy over the bed in the real room. The smell of the flowers was nice, reminding him of Marianne. No sooner had she come to his mind than he saw her, standing only a short distance away, naked, her skin flushed pink and her eyes bright. 

Bog then realized that he was also naked. He looked down at himself in confusion and Marianne laughed, the sound light and airy. Bog looked back up at her. 

“I’m dreaming,” he stated, but Marianne shook her head. “Only partly. Remember the other night, when you dreamed about our dancing date?” 

While she spoke, Marianne walked slowly through the field of flowers toward him. Bog watched her, mesmerized by her beauty. 

He nodded. “I do. You said you remembered that night as well.” 

She smiled and nodded. “I do. But I realized something, when you fell asleep, I felt this pull toward you...I can enter your dreams.” 

Bog frowned. “You can?” 

She nodded, pleased with her new knowledge. “I can enter them and make a few changes.” She glanced around the room that was now gone, replaced by a field of flowers. The sky’s light was the soft sky blue pink of twilight, but the bed remained the same. “I also figured out something else…” She walked closer until she could reach out and touch him, her hands pressed against his chest. Bog realized he could feel her touch. Warm. Alive. 

Bog gasped and placed his hands over hers. “I can feel you!” 

Marianne nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes! I don’t know how it’s possible, but I don’t care. Here I can be with you--we can be together.” 

Bog stared at her, tears in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll take it.” 

Marianne giggled. “We can do more than just talk too.” 

She rose up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. She felt warm, soft, solid, and alive. Bog dropped her hands to wrap his arms around her, pulling her closer against him, feeling her body fit against his perfectly. His body reacted to her. He was a little embarrassed, but Marianne made a soft moan of pleasure pressing herself more firmly against him. 

Marianne wrapped her arms around his shoulders, opening her mouth, her tongue caressed his lips. Her tongue was warm, wet and sweet. He made a sound, half groan, half tearful happiness. 

Marianne ran her hands into his hair, kissing him harder, more passionately, her mouth moved over his with desperation and need. 

Bog returned her desperate kiss with his own. He couldn’t believe this was happening, that she was here and he could touch her. Hell, he didn’t know how any of this worked, how she was here in his dreams and in his reality. He had buried her, but now Marianne was with him again! He wanted to drop to his knees and thank whatever deity had made this possible, but right now he wanted his fiancee, wanted to feel her around him again, to show her how much he loved her. 

Marianne, as if reading his mind, did a little hop and wrapped her legs around his waist. Bog chuckled, cupping her rear with both hands and walked her to the bed in the middle of the flower field. 

He laid her down on the mattress, stroking her hair back while kissing her mouth, her nose, her cheeks and her eyes, covering her face with soft caresses of his lips. 

Marianne giggled and whispered playfully wrapping her legs around the back of his legs, her fingers stroking through his hair and and over his shoulders. “I hope that isn’t all you’re going to kiss.” 

Bog chuckled. “Don’t worry, I plan on kissing all of you.” 

Marianne grinned happily. 

Bog’s lips trailed down her throat. He marveled at the softness of her skin, the gentle scent of vanilla and primroses that clung to her skin, a scent he could lose himself in. Bog dragged his tongue along the column of her throat, sliding lower. He brushed his lips along her collar. When he reached her breasts, Bog brushed his nose along her skin, pressing his lips against the soft mounds of her breasts. He gazed at one breast, the soft, sweet pink of her hard nipple. He slowly dragged the flat of his tongue along her nipple. 

Marianne moaned loudly as her hands brushed through his hair cradling his head to her breast. Bog smiled. There were few sounds he enjoyed more than the sound of Marianne moaning in pleasure. Bog twirled his tongue around her nipple slowly before gently using the tip of his tongue to flick across the surface of her sensitive nipple. 

Marianne arched slightly and moaned louder in response. Bog switched to her other breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth where he circled his tongue around it, pressing his teeth eagerly into her skin. One hand moved down her side. Her skin felt like silk, warm, alive...He caressed her hip and ran his fingers along her leg while sucking deeply on her breast. 

Marianne groaned long, throwing her head back. “Oh Bog…” 

Bog slid down from her breast, his tongue gliding over her skin. Touching her was like magic, feeling her breath, the beat of her heart, the scent of her skin, all things he thought he would never have again. Bog moved lower still, taking time to cover as much of her as he could with licks and kisses until he was between her legs. He lifted her legs gently over his shoulders, his fingertips brushing up the top of her thighs. Marianne gazed down at him, reaching out with her fingers to caress his hair, her nails brushing gently against his scalp. Bog looked up at her, his blue eyes bright. She smiled at him and Bog felt his heart twist happily inside his chest. His eyes still on her, Bog brushed his sharp nose against the soft curls of her groin, his hands sliding up her hips to her stomach. 

Marianne rubbed her feet along his back, her toes pressed against his skin, her soft thighs brushed his cheeks, her body tensed in anticipation. She grinned at him, the look in his eyes made her tickle down deep in a way she didn’t know if she could stand. It felt so good. 

Bog licked her, his tongue sliding against her, pressing his tongue against her clitoris, feeling the heat of her sex against his tongue. He reveled in the wild scent of her, the sweet taste of his Marianne. He moaned and tugged her closer to him to press his lips against her, sucking gently and taking his time to taste, experience each moment. 

Marianne began to pant, her grip in his hair tightening when his attentions became more aggressive. His lips were so soft, his tongue firm, yet the way he moved it over her... 

Bog slid his tongue into her then over her clitoris again. The fingers of his hands spread wide over her stomach. He leaned into her, sucking deeply until Marianne cried out, her body arching, her fingers grasping his hair in a hard grip. 

Bog growled when she came and leaned hard into her, his tongue lapping, lips sucking and tasting her pleasure on his tongue. He buried his face between her legs, drinking from her in a way that had Marianne howling, her body rocking until she didn’t think she could take much more. 

Bog released her with a gasp, his face damp with her. Marianne moaned caressing his hair and his face as her breathing slowed. Bog kept her legs over his shoulders as he moved back up over her. He grinned at her showing off his crooked teeth just before he entered her. 

They both moaned together at the moment he glided into the warm, wet depths of her body. Marianne hissed with pleasure. She cupped his face between her hands to draw his lips closer. She kissed him, slipping her tongue between his lips, tasting herself on his mouth (or at least how Bog remembered her tasting) while Bog rocked, thrusting into her with long, deep strokes. He released her legs after a moment, allowing Marianne to wrap her legs around his waist, her hands held onto his shoulders. Their bodies rocked the bed while they kissed, afraid to let go of each other. Marianne felt that warm tickle deep in her groin blossom into a flower of heat and pleasure that raced through her body. 

She cried out his name, holding him tight against her. “Uh, uh Bog...Bog!” 

She climaxed again, bursting with a warm bright light that nearly blinded her as her pleasure rocked through her in waves. Bog’s breath came out in a stuttering gasp as her pleasure rippled through him, causing him to orgasm hard, thrusting into her deeply as he spilled himself into her. 

* 

When Bog woke the light coming in through the break in the curtains told him it was early afternoon. He was naked, sprawled across his bed on his stomach in a tangle of sheets and wetness. He laid there, one hand dangling over the mattress side, his feet dangling over the other end, wondering what in the world had happened last night when he heard her voice. He opened his eyes cautiously, but the flowers that had taken over the room the night before were gone. Now it was just a regular bedroom. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

Bog looked up to see Marianne crouched beside the bed smiling at him. She still looked as real as the night before in the kitchen. The chill from her washed over him giving him goosebumps, but he didn’t care. He smiled at Marianne. She was here and that was all he cared about. He would welcome the cold as long as he lived to be with her. Marianne was wearing the dress he had bought her when they went dancing, and wearing a ghostly version of the necklace she had worn when she died. She grinned at him, her brown eyes dancing. 

Bog rolled to his side and sat up, pulling some of the sheet with him, cleaning himself off. “What happened last night?” he asked standing up to strip the bed sheets. Marianne watched him moving around the bed naked, her eyes watching the play of muscles in his rear and back with a hungry grin. He had lost weight, but he was still trim and sexy, she thought. 

Marianne giggled. “We had dream sex, that’s what happened--and it was great!” 

Bog carried the dirty sheets to the hamper in the bathroom before turning on the hot water in the shower. Marianne cheerfully followed him inside and into the shower. Bog made the shower hotter than he would ever take because the cold rolling off Marianne balanced the temperature of the water out a bit. 

Bog smiled at her. “But...how?” 

Marianne shrugged. “I have no idea. I just knew I could do it. I don’t know how any of this dead thing works. There is no book for the recently deceased, which is a total bummer.” 

Bog laughed stepping into the shower. “Well that does suck.” 

Marianne nodded, her eyes wandering down his body wishing she could soap him up like she used to, running her hands over his soapy torso, caressing his erection, listening to him moan. Hmmm….she knew what she was going to do tonight in his dreams. 

Bog grinned at her as he showered, washing his hair, feeling more himself than he had been since...he frowned at the thought. Since Marianne’s death. He shook that thought away and smiled at her. “You could at least be naked while you’re in the shower.” Bog gave her dress a once over, the water from the shower crashing through her. 

Marianne giggled, her clothing vanishing to leave her standing naked with him. 

Bog grinned at her. 

* 

Bog pulled on his jeans. “I was thinking, we should tell your sister.” 

Marianne sat on the bed, watching him. A frown passed over her features. “How is she doing?” 

Bog smiled. “She is doing all right. Sunny has been wonderful to her. And of course she keeps coming over here to feed me and check on me.” 

Marianne giggled. “Dawn was always meant to be a mother…” Her voice trailed off and Bog looked up from buttoning his jeans to see a cloud over her features. “Marianne?” 

Her eyes, which had become unfocused, turned to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing just...I would have liked to have had children with you.” She sniffed. “Now that’s all gone…” 

Bog hurried over to her dropping into a crouch in front of her. He reached up and brushed his fingers along her cheek feeling that cool, almost liquid feel of her presence. He wanted so much to hold her. “I’m sorry, Marianne. You would have made a wonderful mother.” 

Marianne smiled sadly. “And you would have made a wonderful father.” She gazed at him gently before she murmured. “It’s fine. There’s no point in crying over something we’ll never have. I’m just grateful for this…” She motioned with her hands at him, sending a chill down Bog’s spine when the coldness of her washed over him. He did his best so that Marianne wouldn’t notice. He smiled softly. “I’m grateful for this too.” 

Marianne gazed lovingly at him, reaching out to brush a cold breeze across his lips. He smiled and kissed the air before he stood up. He walked over to the closet and grabbed a shirt out, pulling the dark blue garment over his head. Marianne watched him, feeling a deep sadness that she couldn’t touch him, but promised herself tonight she would make up for it. 

“I’ll see if Dawn can meet me for lunch,” Bog said while pulling his arms through his shirt. “She’ll probably jump at the chance since she’ll get to make sure I eat.” 

Marianne frowned. “Do you think I could come with you? Or do you think I’m bound to the house? I have no idea how this ghost thing works.” 

Bog frowned at her running his fingers through his hair to stop himself from looking like a rooster. “I don't know...but you appeared each time I held the necklace you wore...that…” He couldn’t bring himself to say that it was the necklace she was wearing when she died. So he simply skipped over the word. “Maybe that’s it? I could take the necklace with me.” 

Marianne reached up and touched her necklace that was around her neck, a ghostly version of the one she wore at her death. “It’s so funny. I don’t remember anything between...between the crash and seeing you in our bedroom. It’s like...I was lost in darkness...and I was struggling to find my way to you. I could hear you...feel you, but I just couldn’t get to you. Then suddenly I was there...” She looked up at him, her brown eyes confused and sorrowful. “I…” 

Bog hurried over to her again once more crouching in front of her. “Don’t think about it. That doesn’t matter now. You’re here now, and that is all I care about Marianne. We are together.” 

She smiled. “Yes. We are.” 

Bog smiled at her. “It’s going to be all right. I know it.” 

She nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Now, let me call Dawn and let’s see if you can come with me.” Bog smiled standing up again. 

* 

Half an hour later Bog slipped on his jacket as he headed toward the door. Outside a taxi was waiting for them. (They had tested just minutes before whether Bog could walk down to the sidewalk with the necklace and Marianne following him. They had been able to accomplish that little task without her vanishing. Marianne was nervous about getting in the taxi, but she needed to know how far she could go.) 

Bog grinned. “Ready?” 

Marianne nodded. “Let’s do this.” 

Bog opened the door, about to walk through when he nearly walked right into a man standing in the doorway, his fist raised ready to knock on the door. 

Bog took a startled step back. “Can I help you?” 

The man nodded. “Are you Bog King?” 

Bog nodded. “I am.” 

“These papers are for you.” The man handed him the papers followed by a smile. “Have a nice day.” 

Bog frowned in confusion, but instead of looking at the papers, he simply folded them under his arm and hurried to the taxi waiting on the street. He watched the man walk to a car parked nearby, but soon forgot all about it as he slipped into the taxi, his heart beating nervously inside his chest. Once they had pulled away from the house, Bog whispered under his breath. “Marianne?” He heard her disembodied giggle followed by the whisper of her voice against her ear. “I’m here!” 

Bog smiled happily, sliding his hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the necklace. 

* 

Once the taxi dropped him off, Bog shoved the envelope into his back pocket, swiftly forgotten, his mind on talking to Dawn and what he would say. For a moment, his heart nearly skipped a beat when he thought that this might be when Dawn figured out he had truly lost it, but he squashed that notion. Bog walked quickly down the sidewalk toward the Spring Flowers Coffee and Tea house, one of Dawn’s favorite places in the city. It was a small corner shop with all wood walls and wooden floor, a real fireplace and some nice cool jazz that played constantly. Dawn also liked the place because everything served was locally grown. 

He walked past the large picture window, glancing in to see Dawn sitting at a table looking the picture of blossoming motherhood. She was wearing a pair of denim overalls decorated in sunflowers and a bright yellow t-shirt with a little white sweater and a pair of equally bright yellow Converse sneakers. She saw him through the window and waved, a bright smile on her face. 

Bog heard Marianne’s voice. “Oh look at her! When’s the baby due again?” 

Bog whispered as he pushed the door open. “Two more months.” 

He could hear the sorrow in Marianne’s voice. “I miss her.” 

“I know Mari,” Bog whispered hurring over to fall into Dawn’s open arms. The little woman hugged Bog tight. “Oh Bog!! I’m so glad you called!!! And I’m glad you are eating!!” Dawn smiled, giving his cheek a loud kiss and then pinched his cheek gently. 

Bog smiled. “You look adorable. Very yellow.” 

Dawn laughed. “My doctor suggested bright colors to help with my mood.” 

“Have you ordered yet?” Bog asked as he pulled a chair out. 

“Nope--well sorta. I got some raspberry tea while I was waiting, and maybe a couple of chocolate scones.” Dawn giggled. 

Bog laughed and Dawn blinked in surprise. She hadn’t heard Bog laugh since before Marianne’s death. She didn’t comment, not wanting to point it out to him since it might make him feel guilty. She knew Bog felt so guilty about being alive. It killed her to watch him wasting away from guilt and pain. Dawn loved him so much, her big brother in spirit. She just wanted Bog to get better, but she understood. She also missed her sister deeply. 

Bog turned and glanced at the chalkboard menu. 

“I think I’ll get the chicken soup and some black coffee,” Bog murmured. “What can I get you?” 

Dawn smiled, pleased that he was going to order some food for himself. “Mm...how about a garden salad and some water?” 

Bog nodded. “Be right back.” 

He stood, walking over to place their order while Dawn watched him, a slight furrow on her brow as her hand rubbed absently across her belly. Marianne watched her sister with a soft smile. She could tell Dawn was worried about Bog and it made her smile how much her little sister loved Bog. She wanted so much to talk to Dawn, to embrace her. Instead she reached over and caressed her sister’s hair. 

Dawn shivered, feeling a chill around her. She glanced around, but no one else seemed chilled. She looked at the ceiling for a vent, but there was nothing there. Dawn frowned, slightly confused. Bog soon returned to their table with their drinks, placing a bottle of water in front of Dawn and a cup of black coffee in front of him. 

Dawn asked gently. “So, how are you doing?” 

Bog frowned sitting down. “Better,” he assured her with a strange half-smile. “I...ah called you because…” He closed his eyes a moment. He wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. Oh, by the way, your dead sister is back… 

He could feel Marianne around him, a gentle cool breeze stroking through his hair, along his face and arms. Her presence helped him. 

He took a breath and decided to simply plow ahead, just spill it instead of trying to find a way to tiptoe around the subject. 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Bog asked bluntly. 

Dawn, who had been opening the top of her bottle of water, stopped mid-motion. “Ghosts? Why?” 

Bog stared down at his coffee. For a moment he was sure he saw Marianne’s face reflected in the dark surface, like she was hovering over his shoulder. He smiled running his finger along the edge of his cup. 

“What if I told you I saw Marianne--would you think I was crazy?” Bog looked up at Dawn; the skin around his blue eyes was tight with tension. 

Dawn frowned. “Well, I...I don’t know. Have you?” Her eyebrows lifted marginally. 

Bog took a sip of his coffee before he answered. “Yes.” 

Dawn shivered while playing with the lid of her bottle. “Are you getting enough sleep? Are you taking your pills as prescribed?” 

Bog smiled at her and nodded. “I am. But...what if I can prove it to you?” 

Dawn’s bottom lip trembled. “Bog...I’m worried about you. You’ve lost a lot of weight, you don’t look well and I know you are sleeping in your recliner…” 

“Dawn?” 

Marianne’s voice was a soft whisper at her ear. Dawn would be proud of herself later that she didn’t shriek. Dawn stared at Bog with wide eyes. Bog smiled and nodded. 

Dawn trembled a little, but she whispered. “Can we get our food to go?” 

Bog grinned. 

* 

Dawn was quiet on the drive back to Bog’s house. She drove in silence, her shoulders tense. Bog held their food and remained quiet, letting Dawn work through what had happened at the coffee shop, though he could feel Marianne’s presence around him. This close, in the car, he was certain Dawn could feel it too. When they arrived back at the house, Bog opened the door, holding it open for Dawn who walked in slowly. She looked around, her eyes wide before she turned in a full circle to face Bog. 

“All right, what was that?” she asked in a whisper. 

“It was me.” 

Dawn felt the suddenly cooling air in the room, turning to downright chilly. She spun around to see her big sister standing in the middle of the living room, her hands held in front of her looking at Dawn with a gentle smile. Marianne looked real, dressed in a dark purple dress, looking alive...whole... 

Dawn swallowed her scream, her eyes wide in shock. “Marianne?” 

Marianne nodded. “It’s me.” 

Dawn made a choked sob. She rushed forward to wrap her arms around her sister only to have her arms go straight through Marianne. 

Marianne winced as Dawn yelped and jumped back, the chilly air sending goosebumps up her sister’s arms. 

“Sorry.” Marianne shrugged. 

Dawn sniffed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “But--it's you? Really you?” 

Marianne nodded. “Yep. It’s me.” 

Dawn turned to look at Bog. Bog smiled and wiped his own teary eyes. “Yeah, it really is her.” 

Dawn wobbled, but Bog was there in a second, taking her arm and leading her over to the couch, helping her sit. 

“Here, you need to eat. I’ll get you some water too.” Bog said walking over to grab the bag of food he had set on the table. He pulled out her salad and quickly brought it over to her followed by pouring her a glass of water. 

Dawn took the salad and water without once moving her eyes from her sister. She stared at Marianne as if she were afraid moving her eyes would cause her big sister to disappear. “Oh god Marianne...I…” 

Marianne smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, me too.” 

Bog walked over (leaving his now cold soup on the table) to perch on the edge of his recliner, laying his elbows on his knees, his long fingers laced together as he watched the two sisters. It was only then that the envelope in his back pocket, which made a soft crunching noise when he sat, returned to his mind. He pulled it out, looking it over. It was a plain manilla envelope, the only writing on it was his name. He slowly ran his finger under the folded edge, tearing it open. 

Dawn gazed at her sister. “What does this mean? Like, do you have unfinished business? Or...what other reasons do ghosts haunt? I mean, your death was tragic...is that it?” 

Marianne shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no idea how or why, but...maybe it's selfish of me, but I’m not sorry I came back.” 

Dawn grinned. “I’m not either. What about you Bog?” Dawn had turned toward Bog only to see that he looked ill. “ How are...Bog?” 

Dawn saw that he had gone pale, staring at a piece of paper in his hand. “Bog? Everything okay?” 

Bog looked up, his gaze going between Dawn and Marianne. His voice was dull with shock as he whispered. “Roland Knight has given me thirty days to vacate the premises before he has me evicted by the police. It seems that his name is on the deed to the house.” Bog frowned, clearly confused gazing at Marianne. 

Marianne hissed. “SHIT!”


End file.
